Proof that Leaving the Toilet Lid Down is MUCH Worse than Leaving the Toilet Seat Up

Written on August 11, 2013

So a couple months ago, we held my daughter, Phaedra’s first birthday party at our house.

I’ve mentioned and posted a lot about my 2 year old daughter, Kaiya. I wrote about her and posted pictures of her in recent entries and even wrote a lot about her while my wife was pregnant with her. However, I haven’t posted much about Phaedra so far. I was kind of taking a break from this site when my wife was pregnant with her. I also wasn’t writing much the first few months following her birth. It ended up being a pretty lengthy break. Heck, some of you may not even know that I have a second daughter. Anyways, in a nutshell, this little gal has brought a lot of happiness to my life. She is beautiful, goofy, loving and is always smiling. She smiles and laughs almost every time I look at her. She’s a doll.

Phaedra’s 1st birthday party was set to begin at noon on a Sunday around the end of May (her birthday is May 23rd). Krystal and I had a lot of preparing to do for the party. Some of these tasks included; picking up the cake, setting up tables, cooking food, buying a gift, cleaning the house, etc. Unfortunately, this made for a hectic morning on the day of her birthday party due to the fact that Krystal and I are both notorious procrastinators. In fact, the night before the day of the party, we didn’t have ANYTHING done in terms of preparation. We had originally planned on having everything done and prepared a couple days in advance. YEAH….RIGHT. I don’t know who we thought we were trying to fool. Well, ourselves, I guess, but that’s not difficult. It seemed like every time we had some spare time to prepare for the party in the days leading to it, something ultra important and therefore distracting would come up, like new Investigative Discovery shows/episodes being added to Netflix.

On the night prior to Phaedra’s party, our house was an utter disaster and we had done ZILCH in terms of preparation. We hadn’t picked up the cake. The tables were still in my kitchen. Hell, we hadn’t even purchased a gift yet. Krystal and I discussed the possibility of getting some late night cleaning and preparation done before going to bed that night, but ultimately we decided that it would be best for us to wake up at 8:00 AM and attempt to cram everything in prior to when the party was scheduled to start, which was at noon. We figured this would be enough time. However, this led to another problem that we failed to properly prepare for, which is the fact that Krystal and I are NOT morning people. We are unable to refuse to abuse the alarm clock snooze. We didn’t drag our asses out of bed until 10:30 AM, a mere hour and a half before guests were scheduled and confirmed to arrive.

So we had an hour and a half to somehow find away to pick up the cake (which was located in a city that is a 30 minute drive from where we live), prepare the food, clear out the garage, move the tables to the garage, buy a gift, clean the house, etc. When Krystal and I finally dragged ourselves out of bed, she informed me that she was going to drive to pick up the food, cake and gift and that it was my responsibility to ensure that the tables were set up and the house was clean. She followed this statement by designing a “honey-do” list. This “honey-do” list was quite extensive. In an hour and a half, I was expected to clear off the counters, do the dishes, vacuum the floors, pick up toys and put them away, sweep the kitchen floor, mop the kitchen floor, dust various surfaces in our living room, pick up clutter, fold the blankets on counters, clean and organize the bathroom and organize our DVDs. Along with this, I had to care for our 2 and 1 year old daughters, which meant changing diapers, feeding them, watching them, etc. In terms of my personal agenda, I also needed to take a shower and get ready for I didn’t want people arriving at my messy house, in which I, the host, looked and smelled as if I had bathed myself in chicken noodle soup.

This was a lot of shit to tackle in an hour and a half. To make things worse, Krystal gave me the vibe that if I didn’t get everything done, I would be in the doghouse for the day.

I started with clearing off the counter. Finished in a jiffy, no problem. I followed this by vacuuming, sweeping and mopping the floors in our house. I had the girls help me out with picking up their toys and putting them in their toy box. I was rushing through these tasks so frantically and erratically, I probably resembled the Tasmanian Devil on Walter White’s blue (Breaking Bad if you don’t get the reference). Which is ironic, for our house was so cluttered and messy at the time, that it appeared as if it were the home to a bunch of ruthless Tasmanian Devils.

I began chipping away at the mound of dishes that needed to be done, when I felt the urge to take a piss. After this urge slowly crept up on me, it increased vigorously and at a rapid pace. At this point, I had only been doing the dishes for a couple minutes, and the gigantic stack of dishes that had piled up, appeared to be at least a 15-20 minute job.

My need to take a piss seemed to increase every minute, but I refused to stop working on my “honey-do” list to relieve myself. Ya see, I’m the type of person who is very goal-oriented and when I have a particular goal set (which in this case, it was finishing the honey-do list before Krystal came home), I become very tunnel-visioned in my approach to successfully accomplishing/completing my goal. In other words, I had to take a piss pretty badly, but wasn’t going to give in to the pressure of taking one until I had thoroughly accomplished my mission of cleaning my house to the point where Krystal would be satisfied with me or at least able to justify that my efforts were efficient enough that I did not deserve to be placed in her metaphorical “bad Joshua” doghouse. I’ve been in that house a few times before…it’s not my preferred habitat to reside in, to say the least.

I had no idea at the time, but my stubborn attitude/tunnel vision in terms of completing tasks would ultimately lead to a sequence of 4 catastrophic events.

Now, before I go any further, I need to note one vital piece of information about me, which is HOW I piss. I piss sitting down and I’m not ashamed of it. I prefer to do it this way. My wife, mother, grandmother, mother in law, any female who spends extensive time with me LOVE this about me for they never have to worry about me pissing all over the toilet seat if it is left down nor do they ever have to worry about me leaving the toilet seat up because I never have a reason to prop it up to begin with. I’ve pissed sitting down for years and it has gotten to the point where I truly share the stereotypical female frustrations with men who piss standing up. I hate it when I accidentally sit on the cold, grimy, piss and pube-covered rim of a toilet because I sat down to take a piss without looking at the toilet first. Not to mention, there’s nothing worse than noticing that some lazy-aimer, dude pissed all over the toilet seat and failed to wipe their urine off the seat after doing so. This is especially appalling if you don’t notice it until AFTER you have pissed. No one that I know of LIKES to have some dude’s piss on their ass cheeks. It’s gross. So I literally can relate to the stereotypical female complaints of men doing these sorts of things and I can’t really explain why I prefer to piss sitting down, other than the fact that it’s more comfortable and relaxing. Also, my pisses seem to carry on forever, so it provides me with a few minutes to sit down and reflect on whatever is going on in my life. It’s just way better, but there are exceptions in which I do pee standing up, the main one being in public restrooms. I’m somewhat of a germaphobe. Enough said.

So back to doing the dishes. I had been doing the dishes at a rapid pace for roughly 10 minutes when the urge to piss became borderline intolerable. While doing the dishes, I was simultaneously dancing around, grunting, whining, etc. I had to piss so badly that I came to the realization that if I didn’t eventually give in and relieve myself, I was going to piss my pants. I began bargaining with myself. I thought to myself, “ok Swaff, you have GOT to get these tasks done, but it’s not worth pissing your pants over. Just finish these dishes and then you can take a piss, but IMMEDIATELY move on to the next task when you are done. YOU CAN DO THIS! Gotta make Krystal happy!!!!”

I danced around, while simultaneously doing the dishes for another 5-10 minutes when I finally finished them. The urge to piss led to discomfort that was just absolutely excruciating. I was straight up suffering those final few minutes. A microsecond after drying and putting away the last dish, I dashed in a dead sprint towards the bathroom. Usain Bolt would have been blown away by my speed. When I burst into the bathroom, I didn’t proceed to calmly and gently sit down to piss. I basically jumped, Michael Jordan style in the direction of the toilet. In mid-air, I gracefully pulled my pants down to my knees and maneuvered my body and legs horizontally in an attempt to land on the toilet with finesse and efficiency. I did a good job at doing this. Shawn Johnson has nothing on me in terms of my mid-air finesse in that particular moment. However, this wasn’t a good thing. In fact, it was horrible. It was cata-freaking-strophic. It was catastrophe #1. Ya see, prior to jumping on the toilet, I failed to actually look at the thing. For God knows what reason, Krystal decided to put the toilet lid down after she had last used the toilet. Because of that, when all 215 pounds of me (plus gravity from the jump) landed on the toilet seat, the first anatomical structures of mine to make contact with the toilet seat were my testicles and penis, which had somehow become tucked directly beneath my ass. In other words, with assistance from the toilet seat being left down, I had literally stomped on my own twig and berries (branch and grapefruits, but whatever), due to them being sandwiched between the solid, immobile toilet seat and my plump ass which supported a 215 man landing from jumping into mid-air. Catastrophic.

For the first couple seconds, I didn’t feel anything. I think I may have been in shock, for I knew what had just happened and I was scared shitless that my balls resembled a couple of smashed Cadbury eggs. However, after about 5 seconds, the pain began to set in and it began in my stomach. I had stomped on my entire unit so hard, and the pain was so indescribably excruciating, that I literally thought for a split second that my unit had been jammed into my stomach. The pain expanded from my stomach, to my balls, and to go along with it, the tip of my penis stung and was beginning to bruise.

From a distance, in pain-induced psychosis, I swear I heard Scorpion from the Mortal Kombat games yell in his notoriously gruff voice:

And “assuming of the fetal position” is exactly what I did. Right then, right in the middle of my bathroom (which still needed to be cleaned before Krystal got home), I laid down on the ground in the fetal position and whimpered. Oh **** it, I admit, I CRIED. It HURT, dammit!

How is this for a pathetic? Well, this is an accurate depiction of what I looked like at that moment.

So things couldn’t possibly get any worse than THIS, right? WRONG. This was only #1 of 4 subsequent tragedies.

Remember my explanation of how badly I had to take a piss, to the point where I was fearful of pissing my pants? Well that urge/feeling doesn’t go away when your balls and wiener are stomped on. In fact, your ability to control it becomes distracted, due to your attention being shifted towards the pain you are enduring. With that said, catastrophe #2 occurred. Shortly after assuming the fetal position on my bathroom floor, I uncontrollably began pissing. By the time I was physically able to recover and regain enough physical strength to put the toilet seat up, crawl, pull and hoist myself on to the toilet seat to finish my piss, I had drenched my entire mid region of my body along with a large section of the floor in my own piss. It was the first time I had ever pissed all over myself while in a sober state since I had been potty-trained. “Great, another mess to clean up before Krystal gets home,” I thought to myself while sitting on the toilet and finishing my piss, still in a physical state of excruciating pain.

This was a long piss. I sat on the toilet and pissed for what seemed like 4 minutes, which if you add that to the time I spent pissing all over myself on the bathroom floor, it would approximately be a 5 minute piss.

So I’m in a state of horrible pain, but with an exception of still having a lot of tasks on my “honey do” list with an addition of the task of cleaning an unplanned piss mess, things couldn’t possibly get any worse….right? WRONG!!!

Catastrophe #3 occurred after I had finished pissing and lifted my buns off the toilet seat. Immediately after my buns departed from the toilet seat, I heard a faint, “slapping” noise followed by more pain. This was burning pain located on my right ass cheek. I thought to myself, what in the wide world of **** was that?!?! Did something just freaking bite me?!?! Was there a freaking spider or bat underneath that toilet seat and if so, did it just bite my ass?!?!?!?” I momentarily thought I was losing my mind. My stomach ached, my frank and beans (brat and walnuts, but whatever) were throbbing and now my right ass cheek felt like it was on fire. I looked at my ass in the mirror and there was a very noticeable red line that extended roughly 2 inches throughout the middle of my right ass cheek. In the middle of the line, blood was drawn. “What in the hell just happened?” I thought.

I proceeded to examine the toilet to see what had caused this slapping noise and butt-burning and immediately discovered the cause.

Unbelievable. When I landed on the toilet lid, I had cracked the toilet seat beneath it. When I sat on this crack in the toilet seat, some flesh and skin from my right ass cheek had become caught in this crack so tightly, that when I lifted myself up, it cut a nice 2 inch, bloody line on my right ass cheek.

After standing for a couple minutes to regain my composure from what I assumed would be an infinite physical state of intolerable pain, I proceeded to take my piss-drenched clothes off, scrub the floor and take a shower. Immediately after exiting the shower, catastrophe #4 occurred…my wife called.

I answered the phone, unsure how to explain to her the unfortunate, physically painful events that I had endured. It didn’t matter anyways that, for I didn’t get a chance to get a word in edge-wise. Immediately after answering the phone, she informed me of how stressed out and rushed she felt. She quickly followed this explanation, by asking me about each individual task from her “honey do” list that she had created for me and whether or not I had finished them. I replied honestly, which in turn meant, I broke the news to her that I hadn’t finished 3 or 4 tasks yet.

Catastrophe # 4: After informing Krystal of the tasks I hadn’t completed yet, I was officially in the doghouse, which was not where I wanted to be with a burning ass, sore stomach, throbbing, pulsating and bruised penis, crushed testicles and wounded pride due to pissing myself while in a sober state for the first time since being potty trained.

(Ugh, the Rick spoof is so stupid in this one).

After telling Rick this story, he responded with, “I don’t ever wanna hear any more shit about why I purposely CHOOSE to piss my pants instead of use a toilet. Those things are painful.” He probably feels this way because whenever he has used something toilet-ish, it has been in a bat-infested outhouse…and he wiped with poison ivy.

That past is cool and all but not really funny. It's Iowa. Walk into any local strip club and you're going to know the girls.

I bet you have much better funny.

I have stripper stories involving taser guns. Some involving cockroaches. If you humped the babysitter, that would be funny.

It was technically in Illinois where I saw her, homeslice. A few hours away. I guess what made me feel all "wtf" about it is the fact that I HATE going to strip clubs and whenever I've been in one, I've basically been dragged there. Those places give me bad vibes (as I described in the post).

What if the babysitter had cockroaches in her vag? That would be some sick shit.

A few years ago, my wife and I sent these Christmas cards out to like 300 people...along with a "family update" letter. What makes it funny is that we got to about 275 people we knew before we said, "**** it" and just started sending the remaining 25 of them to random names/addresses we came across in the phone book. To this day, I wonder what those random people were thinking when they received their cards.